


M.I.T.: Muggle Interface Team - Secret Keeper

by Northumbrian



Series: Nineteen Years and Beyond [36]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northumbrian/pseuds/Northumbrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, famous people attract unwanted attention. But minor magical misdemeanours have nothing to do with the Muggle Interface Team, do they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	M.I.T.: Muggle Interface Team - Secret Keeper

**MIT: Secret Keeper**

‘And this is my living room,’ said Lavender proudly, as she ushered them through the door. ‘I haven’t had time to put up a Christmas tree yet, because I only arrived home yesterday. You’re my first ever visitors. What do you think?’

‘It’s pink,’ said Susan Bones, carefully and factually. She was leaning on her walking stick as she spoke, and she managed to disguise her distaste as a grimace of pain.

‘It is, isn’t it,’ Lavender replied proudly.

Bobbie Beadle surveyed the lace and chintz filled room with the weary resignation of someone whose suspicions had been proved correct. There were bone china vases on most surfaces, and they all rested on lace doilies. The clock on the mantelpiece was painted porcelain, and extremely ornate; and it was flanked by porcelain ballerinas. The place was girly, fussy, and… 

‘It’s very you, Lavender,’ Bobbie said diplomatically.

‘Thank you, Bobbie,’ said Lavender, taking her friend’s comments at face value. ‘I’ll make tea, and then you can tell me _all_ about you and Oliver. Sit down, please, especially you Susan. What am I thinking? I shouldn’t let you stand for a moment longer. Is it painful?’

As she spoke, Lavender indicated a sofa which contained so many cushions that there was no flat surface to actually sit.

‘It still aches,’ Susan admitted. ‘But that’s what you expect from Skele-Gro, isn’t it?’

‘I’m sure it is,’ said Lavender, shuddering. ‘I’ll be back with tea in a minute. Make yourself comfortable.’

The second she left, Susan and Bobbie exchanged a knowing glance.

‘She’s annoyed that she missed it,’ Susan whispered as she hobbled over to Lavender’s sofa. ‘It was wrong of you to make the arrest, and make the front page of the Daily Prophet while she was on holiday in Barbados with Brian.’

‘He’s called Ryan,’ hissed Bobbie, she raised a hand and counted off on her fingers as she spoke. ‘Brian was months ago, Susan. He was the journalist she ditched when she discovered he was only dating her in order to get an invitation to Ron and Hermione’s wedding, remember? Then there was smarmy Simon, and then some bloke called Joe, who she somehow squeezed in for a week, before Ryan “swept her off her feet” and took her off for a winter holiday in the Caribbean. It’s only four different blokes in four months. I think she’s slowing down.’

Susan Bones almost smiled, but she controlled herself, and pursed her thin lips in disapproval. ‘Brian, Ryan, it makes no difference. He won’t last, they never do,’ she said, shaking her head.

Bobbie, who agreed with her friend’s assessment of Lavender’s latest man, said nothing. Susan surveyed the sofa and tried pushing some of the cushions backwards, but with no success. Bobbie simply picked up half-a-dozen of the pink and frilly things, dropped them onto the floor, and motioned for Susan to sit. They had just made themselves comfortable when Lavender walked back into the room. She was carrying a silver tray on which was a fine bone-china tea set.

‘Really, Bobbie,’ said Lavender. ‘I leave for a three-week holiday, and you bag yourself an International Quidditch player for the second time, and get your picture in the paper. “Puddlemere Keeper Wood saved by a Muggle”, that’s what it said in the Daily Prophet. I know that you’ve fancied him since you first saw him. It was obvious to me from the moment I saw you walking across the car park at Ron and Hermione’s wedding.’

Placing the tray on a spindly table, Lavender proceeded to pour three cups of tea and offer around a plate of biscuits. ‘You were star-crossed-lovers, forced apart by a jealous rival. It’s a true romance,’ she added dreamily. ‘I always liked Oliver’s voice, you know. It’s all soft and lilting and sort of…’

‘Scottish?’ asked Susan as she carefully took the cup and saucer Lavender passed to her and helped herself to a piece of shortbread.

‘Yes,’ said Lavender. ‘It always _sounded_ nice, but when we were at school he never talked about anything but Quidditch. Boring, boring, boring, exactly like Simon. _He_ only ever talked about money and the sock market…’

‘Stock market,’ Bobbie corrected.

‘Stock, sock, what’s the difference?’ Lavender asked.

‘Quite a lot,’ said Bobbie, trying not to laugh. ‘I won’t be asking you for any investment advice.

‘What happened, Bobbie?’ Lavender asked. ‘Tell me everything.’

‘You know most of it,’ Bobbie answered. She smiled, and lost herself in memories.

* * *

Susan and Lavender had been invited to Ron and Hermione’s wedding, Bobbie had not, at least, not to the wedding itself. She consoled herself with the fact that she’d been invited along for the evening. That alone was a great honour.

It was perfectly understandable, Bobbie reminded herself. After all, she was a relative newcomer, whereas Susan and Lavender were “Army” veterans and had the medals to prove it. Her workmates had known Ron and Hermione for years; they had fought alongside each other, and they shared a bond she would never share.

August was a week in the past, but fortunately the weather didn’t seem to have realised. The sky was almost cloudless, and the warm September sun was casting long shadows when Bobbie turned her Ford Ka off the country road and drove through the hotel gates. As she passed between the stone pillars she felt a little in awe of the place. The gravel drive was almost a mile long, and it paralleled a tree lined lawn which must have been as old as the converted manor hall itself. It was a striking venue for a wedding, but it was also seriously expensive. It must have cost Hermione’s parents a fortune to book the place.

The car park wasn’t full, which was probably a consequence of the fact that approximately half of the guests would have Apparated (or Flooed—if that was in fact a word) to the place. Bobbie pulled into the first parking space she found, Her little silver car was sandwiched between a white BMW convertible and a red Porsche Boxster. Seeing those cars only made her feel more inadequate. _I should have tried to borrow one of the Auror Office Range Rovers_ , she thought to herself. She immediately shook her head to dismiss the ridiculous thought. She wasn’t a snob. To the wizarding half of the wedding party all cars were the same, and if the Muggles were snooty about her car, that was their problem.

After locking her car and dropping the key into her clutch bag, Bobbie smoothed down her floral print dress and walked towards the hotel entrance. She had only walked a few steps when she heard a tell-tale popping noise off to her left, on the other side of the car park.

Glancing towards the noise, she saw a tall and broad-shouldered man step out from behind some bushes. He was brown-haired and had a pleasant, square-jawed face. He saw her looking at him, and his slightly nervous expression added to his charm. She looked him over carefully, _very nice_ , she decided. He, like her, was arriving alone and he was, also like her, in his mid-twenties.

Bobbie’s invitation had read “Ms Roberta Beadle, and guest”. She hadn’t invited anyone. There wasn’t anyone special to invite, but even if she’d had someone, the “and guest” was always a problem at wizarding functions. Of course, on this occasion the Granger side of the guest list were, like her, Muggles. She wondered how the magical folk would cope amongst all of the Muggles.

As their paths converged, Bobbie continued to watch the brown-haired man; definitely fit, she decided. And alone! She slowed down, trying to time her arrival at the front door to meet his, and realised that he had begun to speed up. Buoyed by her observation, she matched his pace.

‘It’s a lovely evening,’ she said, as they finally met, at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the door of the hotel.

‘Aye, it is that,’ the man said. His voice was deep and low, and he spoke with a soft Scottish brogue.

‘I assume you’re here for Ron and Hermione’s wedding,’ she said. ‘Have you come far? From Scotland?’

‘I…’

Bobbie watched him struggle to find the right words. He was trying to decide if she was a Muggle, or if he could tell her the truth. He was wearing a pale blue shirt, tan linen trousers, and brown brogues. If she hadn’t heard him Apparate, she’d have assumed that he was a Muggle. As he pondered, he quickly stepped forward, pushed open the door, and motioned her to enter first. Flattered by his courtesy, she decided to help him out.

‘I’m a Muggle,’ she told him mischievously. ‘But you can tell me the truth. I heard you Apparate.’ She watched his face crease in bewilderment, and laughed. It always puzzled the magical folk when she told them. If she was a Muggle, how could she know?

‘You … what?’ he asked.

‘I’m Bobbie Beadle,’ she said. ‘The Daily Prophet calls me “the Muggle Auror”. I’m not, of course. I’m a Muggle, so I can’t be an Auror. My correct title is Muggle Liaison Officer; I work with the Muggle Interface Team.’

‘I think I’ve read about you,’ he said vaguely as he followed her into the foyer. ‘You’re another one of Harry’s hare-brained ideas.’

Bobbie glared.

‘According to the Prophet,’ he added hastily.

‘We investigate magical crimes among the Muggles, Wood,’ Lavender said, springing up suddenly from an armchair in the foyer. ‘And Harry made sure that the fact was well publicised in the papers, because we don’t want another lunatic deciding that killing Muggles is acceptable.’

The man Lavender had called Wood stopped and stared at the curvy and curly-haired girl who’d suddenly appeared in front of him. Bobbie, too, looked her friend up and down. Lavender’s dress was short, figure-hugging, low-cut, and bright crimson, it was little wonder that Wood was staring. There was a lot of Lavender on display. Nevertheless, Bobbie found herself becoming very annoyed with the man.

‘Do I know you?’ Wood asked.

‘Lavender Brown,’ snapped Lavender. She switched off the charm and slipped from sultry to savage in a second. ‘I was in Harry’s year, Oliver. You don’t remember me because I didn’t play Quidditch! Your ex, and her girlfriend are having a great time in there,’ she added spitefully, gesturing towards the large function room.

Turning abruptly away from Oliver, she spoke to Bobbie. ‘I’ve just met a man called Simon,’ she said. ‘He’s one of Hermione’s cousins, and he’s asked me to meet him here because he wants to show me his car. I think he’s trying to impress me. It’s a red porch. What does a porch look like?’

‘It’s a Porsche, not a porch, Lavender,’ Bobbie told her. She led Lavender to the door and pointed the car out to her. ‘He’s definitely trying to impress you. Only wealthy people own a Porsche.’

‘Rich and good-looking,’ Lavender said, happily. ‘And, honestly, anyone would be better than that two-faced creep Brian. I mean, I was forced to come here _alone_ , it’s so demeaning to arrive without an escort, isn’t it? See you later.’ She scampered down the steps and tottered across the car park, leaving Bobbie fuming.

When Bobbie turned she was surprised to see that Oliver Wood was still there, waiting for her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t introduce myself. I’m…’

‘Oliver Wood,’ Bobbie told him. ‘Lavender’s just told me, remember?’

‘Yes,’ Oliver confirmed. ‘Is she _really_ an Auror?’

Bobbie nodded. ‘Yes. We’re a team, me, Lavender, and Susan. And, as she said, we usually work in my world, the Muggle world.’

‘How did you…’ Oliver stopped, wondering how to frame the question.

‘How did I end up working with the Aurors? It’s a long story,’ said Bobbie. ‘I was a police officer. Technically, I still am. A few years ago, a Muggle was murdered; the perpetrator used the Killing Curse. I was first officer on scene and … well, like I say, it’s a long story. Let’s just say that Harry and Ron turned up, I impressed Harry, and he offered me a job. The full story is a lot longer, and we can’t really talk about it here.’ She gestured at the mix of wizards and Muggles milling around the function room they were approaching.

‘I… I… My invitation said Oliver Wood, and guest,’ said Oliver. ‘Would you like too…’

‘Are you asking me because Lavender told me that your ex and her girlfriend are in there?’ said Bobbie, still stung by the way he’d stared at Lavender’s cleavage.

Oliver’s face fell. ‘Sorry, I… I… I don’t go out much these days. I probably shouldn’t have come here.’

Immediately sorry for her words, Bobbie tried to recover the situation. ‘It’s okay, Oliver, I’m being stupid. I think I’m nervous, and sometimes Lavender brings out the worst in me, especially when she makes catty comments about people turning up without an escort. These things can be daunting, can’t they? Particularly when you’re not quite in the gang, you know?’

Oliver smiled hesitantly, and nodded. ‘It seems to me that your friend is a brazen wee bletherskite, if you know what I mean.’

Bobbie didn’t, but she nodded anyway, as she didn’t want to interrupt.

‘I don’t know why I’m here,’ Oliver continued. ‘I don’t really know the bride and groom. I think I was invited because I fought at the Battle.’ He looked into her face, and she saw a flash of grief in his brown eyes. ‘Do you know about the Battle?’

‘Yes, at least I’ve been briefed,’ said Bobbie. ‘But I’m a Muggle among wizards, I’m still learning.’

‘Whatever you’ve heard, it was worse,’ said Oliver quietly, lost in memories.

‘I foolishly turned you down,’ said Bobbie. ‘My invitation said Roberta Beadle and guest. Would you like to be my guest?’

Oliver Wood laughed. ‘It will be my pleasure.’ He held out an arm.

She linked her arm through his, and they walked into the function room together.

It took her some time to persuade him to dance, but once she succeeded, they danced for most of the evening. And in the last, slow and smooch number, they kissed.

* * *

‘Why us, Harry?’ asked Bobbie as she stared gloomily at the mound of paperwork on her desk.

‘Yes, why us?’ said Susan as she flicked through one of the files. ‘This isn’t even an Auror Office case.’

‘No deaths, no dark magic, it isn’t even Muggle-related,’ added Lavender.

‘I thought that Bobbie’s detective experience might come in useful,’ said Harry. ‘She did an excellent job with that cursed pearl at Owlglass Hall three weeks ago, but since then you’ve been quiet. You haven’t got much Muggle-world work to do, so you can deal with this.’

‘Is that the only reason?’ Lavender asked. ‘I bet it’s really because Ginny, like the rest of us, wants to know why Oliver and Bobbie split up after only two months together.’

‘Says the girl who changes blokes on a weekly basis,’ snapped Bobbie angrily. There were times when Lavender’s prying and gossiping could become insufferable.

‘Your private lives are private. I don’t care about any of it! I’ve given you the case, just deal with it,’ Harry ordered tersely.

‘Okay, let’s go and speak to Oliver Wood now,’ said Lavender.

‘No,’ Susan and Bobbie spoke in unison.

‘We need to know what we’re investigating before we interview anyone,’ said Bobbie, gesturing at the files Harry had placed on her desk. ‘There is a lot of paper here, witness statements, investigators reports and photographs. We need background information. We need to understand the basics of what happened before we re-interview anyone.’ _Particularly Oliver_ , she thought to herself.

‘I hate paperwork,’ Lavender muttered.

‘We’ve noticed,’ said Bobbie sharply.

‘I’ll leave you to your investigations,’ said Harry firmly. ‘Good luck.’ He turned to leave.

‘These are simply petty crimes, Harry,’ Lavender whined, she was talking to Harry’s back, but it didn’t stop her. ‘The only things which were stolen were Quidditch medals. Nothing of any value was taken.’

When Harry turned, he seemed annoyed, but Bobbie thought she could see a slight flicker of amusement in his eyes. ‘If you value your life, Lavender, never, ever, tell Ginny that any Quidditch medal has no value.’

He looked at each of the three women in turn. ‘I know that it’s not Dark Magic, and I know that there may be—personal issues—and I’m sorry about that, Bobbie. Unfortunately, the Law Office Bailiffs haven’t come up with anything, and this is now _political_.’ He used the word with distaste.

‘Political?’ Bonnie asked.

Harry sighed. ‘Agatha Crichton, Head of Magical Games and Sports, was the witch whose European Quidditch Cup Winner’s medal was stolen. The Bailiffs were getting nowhere, so she spoke to Mr Brick. Our Head of Department is always ready to help a friend, and he decided that, rather than try to get all of the different regional Sheriff’s Offices to collaborate on a single investigation, he would give the job to the Auror Office. So: Brick gave it to Robards, Robards gave it to me, and I’m handing it over to you. It’s called delegating, and Ginny says that if I don’t do more of it, and see more of her, she’ll tie me to the b…’ Harry paused and his eyes glazed for a second, before sparking with a look which was much more primal than amused.

‘Anyway, I’m putting you in charge because you’re a good investigator, Bobbie. That’s the only reason. The medals were all taken from locked buildings; there was no sign of a forced entry, and they were protected by Anti-Apparition Jinxes. Six burglaries, in six different jurisdictions, and all of the stolen medals were sent to Oliver Wood. Oliver didn’t report it until he got the fifth medal, because the robberies didn’t make any headlines until a junior Prophet reporter finally linked the crimes. It’s your case, Bobbie. It’s reassessing the existing evidence, and not much else. I expect a preliminary report on my desk by Friday.’ With that, he strode off.

‘Friday’s my last day,’ Lavender called after him. ‘I’m going to the sunny Caribbean for three weeks. But don’t worry, Harry. I’ll be back in time for the Auror Office Christmas party.’

While Harry had been speaking, Bobbie had been flicking through the files, trying to marry the historic locations the magical community used for their Sheriff’s Offices with their modern equivalents.

‘The Sheriffs of Middle Anglia and Lindsey both come under the High Sheriff of Mercia,’ she said. ‘The others cases are covered by: the Sheriff of the Metropolis of London, the Sheriff of Kent, the High Sheriff of Scotland and the High Sheriff of Northumbria,’ said Bobbie. ‘Two files each?’

‘I’ll take London and Kent,’ suggested Lavender.

‘You won’t,’ said Bobbie firmly. ‘I’ll look at those, because if I need to talk to the investigators, I can drive to those locations quite easily.’

‘Fine,’ said Lavender, shrugging dismissively. ‘In that case, I’ll take the two Mercia cases.’ She grabbed the files, flounced across to her desk, dropped onto her chair and opened the top file with a flamboyant sweep of her arm.

As Bobbie handed Susan the other two files, she gave the thin-faced blonde an inquiring, half-apologetic glance.

‘I really don’t mind taking the two northern cases,’ said Susan, picking up the remaining two files.

‘Thanks, Susan,’ said Bobbie, grateful that at least one of her colleagues was prepared to do the work without complaining. She then swivelled in her chair and turned her attention to Lavender. ‘I know that you want to be “doing” not “sitting”, but we need to know what we’re looking for. It’s ten o’clock. I’ll book a meeting room for three this afternoon, and we can compare notes. We’ll probably need to visit the crime scenes and re-interview the witnesses, but first I want to know what the original investigators discovered. Read those files.’

‘I’m reading, I’m reading!’ Lavender protested. ‘But I’m also hoping that we’ll get an emergency call from the Muggle Monitoring Service,’ she added, a twinkle in her eyes.

* * *

‘I really don’t know how you fit all the pieces together without computers. You don’t even have a whiteboard,’ Bobbie grumbled. Using the thick black marker pen she’d bought, she scribbled some key words on the roll of parchment Susan had magically fixed to the wall. The addresses of the six burglaries were down the left side, and there were several headings along the top. The first one read “Medal”.

‘Are there any other medals to be stolen?’ Bobbie asked. ‘Or is this it?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Lavender.

Bobbie pointed at the list. ‘We need someone who knows something about Quidditch,’ said Bobbie. ‘It appears that I know more than you two, and I’m a Muggle who had never seen a game until ten weeks ago.’ She sighed, ignored her churning stomach, and looked through the window of the meeting room to see if there was anyone else to ask. The Auror Office was empty. Bobbie shrugged; she would probably have to wait for answers.

‘The first burglary was in Humshaugh,’ Bobbie continued, pointing to the parchment, ‘the High Sheriff of Northumbria’s jurisdiction. A Quidditch League Winner’s medal was stolen. Two days later, it was sent to Oliver with a note reading…’ Bobbie picked up the pink and perfumed paper, paused, and tried to ignore the lava bubbling and burning in her abdomen. ‘A note reading: “You deserve this, my darling, love from your Sweetie-Pie”. The second was stolen from Borden, the Sheriff of Kent’s area, and a Quidditch League _Cup_ Winner’s medal was stolen. I’m right in thinking that the League medal goes to a team which ends the season top of the League, and the League Cup is a different, knock-out competition, aren’t I?’

‘I think so,’ said Lavender hesitantly.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Susan admitted. ‘But I see what you’re driving at, Bobbie. The others were a European League winner’s medal, a European League _Cup_ winner’s medal, and…’

‘The top three British and Irish League clubs go into the following year’s Euro-league, and Euro-league cup,’ Lavender interrupted. ‘I think. I’m pretty sure that’s what Ginny said, but I wasn’t really paying attention.’

‘And the last two were a Five-Nations medal, and a European Cup medal,’ said Susan, determinedly finishing her sentence.

‘Those two are National team medals,’ said Lavender. ‘You need to be good enough to play for England, or Scotland, or Wales, and to be in a team good enough to win, to get one of those.’

‘World Cup winner,’ said Susan. ‘I think that’s the only type of medal still to be stolen, but I’ll check with Terry when he gets back, Bobbie. He knows a lot more about Quidditch than I do. Not as much as Harry, but..’

‘Great, thanks,’ said Bobbie gratefully. Like Susan, she didn’t want to ask Harry. He was invariably brusque with people who asked questions where he thought the answer was obvious. Everything Quidditch related fell into that category. ‘We can wait for that information. We need to collate the other facts, too,’ Bobbie added thoughtfully. ‘Did every investigator check that the Anti-Apparition spells were working; and that the locks hadn’t been magically tampered with?’

‘Yes,’ said Susan. Lavender nodded.

‘Mine too,’ said Bobbie unhappily. ‘Neither of mine came up with a method of entry. What about you?’

‘The report from Crieff noted that there was a window open,’ said Susan. ‘But it was “so small that not even a child could have entered” according to the investigating officer…’ Susan leafed to the back of the report, ‘Bailiff Moon ... he actually checked to see if someone had used a Shrinking Charm. They hadn’t. There was nothing about an open window in the other report.’

‘What about _your_ crime scenes, Lavender?’ Bobbie asked. The third member of the team hastily leafed through her paperwork.

‘Bailiff Trout investigated the burglary at Aldwincle,’ she said. ‘He “noted the presence of a cat flap” and wondered if the burglar could have reached in and opened the door, but there was no key on the inside of the door. And, in Mareham-le-Fen, Bailiff Flowerdew drew a sketch plan, which shows the presence of an old clay drainpipe leading through the wall from the scullery into the yard.’

‘I’m going to ask a stupid Muggle question,’ Bobbie warned her friends. ‘Could you magically train a rat, or a cat to burgle a house?’

‘That’s it!’ Lavender exclaimed excitedly. Bobbie was astonished. Usually, her questions were dismissed instantly, and with much eye-rolling. Unfortunately, Lavender’s next comment: ‘It was McGonagall. She always had a soft spot for Oliver,’ made no sense at all.

‘What?’ Bobbie asked. She noticed that Susan’s ice-blue eyes were sparking with ideas at Lavender’s meaningless statement. It was obvious that her words had meant something to the two young witches, unfortunately, she had no idea what it was.

‘It’s possible that the burglar is an Animagus,’ said Susan. ‘He…’

‘More likely she,’ Lavender interrupted. ‘It is possible that Oliver’s “Sweetie-pie” is a bloke, I suppose, but unlikely. An Animagus wouldn’t even need to transform back once they got inside. A cat or a rat could get in through a small gap, and easily carry a single medal out again.’

‘Animagus? Explain!’ demanded Bobbie.

* * *

‘First right after, The Piddle Inn,’ said Susan, who was navigating. She didn’t even crack a smile as she spoke.

Once again struck by the differences between Susan and Lavender, Bobbie’s mind flew back to the discussions they’d had the previous evening, in the hours before Lavender left to go on holiday. Bobbie could still hear Lavender’s giggles when she had heard Oliver’s address.

_‘We have only one more witness to re-interview, and he lives in a village called Piddletrenthide, on the banks of the River Piddle. Perhaps they should rename his club Piddlemere United.’_

_‘The Quidditch Pitch is at a place called Puddle Mere, it’s between Tolpuddle and Puddletown,’ Bobbie had said._

_‘Puddle Mere? It’s not a real mere; it’s no more than a large pond. It’s no more than a puddle on the Piddle,’ Lavender had said, laughing. ‘And both Tolpuddle and Puddletown are on the River Piddle too. It’s such a pity I won’t be there when you visit Oliver. I think you deliberately put the visit off until tomorrow.’_

_Don’t be so childish, Lavender,’ Susan had said. ‘We needed to check all the facts, you know that. And Harry agreed with us. I wouldn’t like to be working in “Magical Creatures” after Harry tells Hermione what a mess the Animagi records are in. Someone will be in big trouble.’_

_‘And Susan and I are perfectly capable of asking Oliver about the letters he’s received,’ Bobbie had told Lavender firmly._

As Bobbie flicked the indicator and turned the Range Rover up the narrow lane, she knew that she’d been lying to Lavender. Lavender’s break-ups were frequent, but the aftermath lasted only hours. Bobbie, however, was still brooding. She should have left the job to Susan, who was always cool, calm, and professional.

The road was not wide enough to allow two cars to pass and there was nowhere to go (except up) if she met a vehicle coming in the other direction. She tried to concentrate on driving, but soon found her mind drifting again.

The harsh November wind was blowing brown leaves onto the verges, where they danced among the winter-bared hedgerows like malevolent sprites. The hedges themselves were tall, gnarled and overgrown, and tendril-like branches darted about threateningly as if they were attempting to ensnare the car.

As they drove slowly up the hill, Bobbie remained silent. She was worried that, if she opened her mouth, her heart would attempt to escape. It was certainly bouncing uncomfortably around her innards. She wondered what she would say to Oliver.

_Why?_

That one word summed up Bobbie’s turmoil. They hadn’t even argued. She’d thought that they were happy together, that their relationship was slowly, but steadily, growing.

Oliver had managed to get her tickets to one of his matches, and since then she seen had him play Quidditch on several occasions. He was good, and she had enjoyed watching the fast and dangerous “sport of wizards” so much that she had even bought a book about the game.

Then suddenly, completely out of the blue, she had received the note. That was when she’d discovered the biggest problem with dating a wizard. They didn’t have phones, and if you didn’t know where they lived, they could vanish in an instant. Oliver had written the briefest of goodbyes.

_Bobbie_

_I don’t think that we should see each other again._

_I’m sorry._

_Oliver_

‘Are you okay?’ Susan asked in concern, snapping Bobbie back to the present.

Realising that she was grinding her teeth, and gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her fingers were going numb, she tried to relax. She needed to be professional, Bobbie reminded herself.

‘I’m fine,’ Bobbie said brusquely, through gritted teeth. For a second, she wished that Lavender was with them, because Susan simply shrugged and silently accepted Bobbie’s assurance. Lavender wouldn’t have believed her, she’d have pestered, and Bobbie could have ranted. Instead, the pressure continued to build. In the few minutes it took for Bobbie to reach the pair of white-painted cottages and climb from the car, she was ready to explode.

Both women were in their Muggle-friendly Auror uniforms. They wore ankle length, black, cloak-like trench coats, white blouses and grey cravats. Unlike her companion, Bobbie preferred to wear black uniform trousers. Susan wore a regulation knee-length black skirt, but insisted on wearing heels at all times. Bobbie was firmly of the opinion that sensible boots were much more practical, but then Susan never ran anywhere.

The door opened before they reached it, and Oliver Wood stepped out.

‘Go away,’ he said urgently. He glared at Bobbie, but only for a moment, because his head swivelled rapidly about, as though he was expecting an attack.

‘This is Auror Office business, Mr Wood,’ Bobbie snapped angrily. Seeing him was too much. She lost control, and began to shout.

‘You don’t get to ignore me, or push me away that easily. What do you take me for? You can’t order me about like that! Is that why you ditched me with a stupid, nasty little letter?’ Bobbie felt the tears begin to flow. ‘Weren’t you man enough to face me?’ she shrieked. ‘You pathetic little…’

‘That’s not what I meant. I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t want to… Merlin… Please listen! You’re in danger, Bobbie. She said she’d know, she said she’d kill you,’ Oliver called, anxiously eying the sky. ‘I’m serious. You should leave. Now!’

Susan was instantly alert. She drew her wand, and murmured, ‘ _Homenum Revelio._ ’

Bobbie, however, was still bouncing through her emotions. As she tumbled from spite towards self-pity, Oliver’s words finally percolated their way into her head. It took a few more moments before her brain unscrambled his incoherent comments and a dangerous seed of hope was planted.

He was more concerned than angry. If he was frightened at all, she thought, it was for her. Bobbie’s hand reached for her Glock-17, still secure in its holster. She did not draw it, but simply made certain that it was there. The handgun was of little use in magical combat. Its main purpose was to impress the Muggle police officers they usually dealt with. She knew from her own experience on the beat that most police officers recognised authorised firearms users as being a different breed, that they were deployed only at need. Despite the gun, if the spells began to fly, her best bet was to hide. Leaving her pistol in its holster, she thrust her hand inside her coat to check the hidden pocket which contained her baton and CS spray.

‘There’s no one else here,’ said Susan, lowering her wand. Bobbie relaxed.

‘Please, Bobbie. It isn’t safe for you here,’ begged Oliver. His eyes continued to dart everywhere.

‘We are _not_ leaving,’ Bobbie answered firmly, as the seed of hope began to spread its roots.

Oliver took one last look around, and hastily ushered them into his cottage.

Oliver’s living room was plain, with whitewashed walls and a floor of bare wooden boards. Two “Puddlemere United Player of the Year” plates, one for 1999-2000 and another for 2001-2002 hung above his fireplace. There was no other decoration. His sofa was small, and there was only one armchair. He indicated that the two women should take the sofa, and he sat in the armchair opposite.

‘I’m serious, Bobbie. So long as you’re here, you’re in danger. Why have you come here? What do you want?’ he asked worriedly.

‘The medals…’ Bobbie began.

‘They gave that case to you?’ asked Oliver, staring anxiously into Bobbie’s eyes. ‘The idiots! I wish I hadn’t reported it to the Law Office. I already told the Bailiff. I didn’t want someone else’s medals, so the moment I realised that they were stolen, I gave them back.’

‘Have you had any contact with her since then?’ Susan asked.

‘Yes. She was furious with me.’

‘You’ve spoken to her?’ Susan asked.

Bobbie opened her mouth, but found herself unable to speak.

‘No,’ said Oliver. ‘She left a note under my pillow; she can get inside my house. It’s as if she can walk through walls.’

‘Do you know who she is?’ Susan asked. Bobbie’s heart stopped while she waited for his answer.

Oliver shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said. ‘But she’s dangerous, she’s insanely jealous, and she’s always watching me. Every few days she sends me a letter, she wants to meet, to talk, to explain, but I don’t trust her. I’ve no idea how she does it, but she seems to know my every move. That’s why…’ He hesitated, and looked sorrowfully at Bobbie.

‘She warned you to…’ Bobbie managed to squeak.

‘She threatened to kill you if I ever saw you again,’ he said, wringing his hands anxiously. ‘And now you’re here, and I have. You’re in danger, Bobbie.’

‘We’re sure that’s how she’s been stealing the medals. Do you have any idea who this mysterious woman is? Do you have a name, do you have anything?’ said Susan, trying to keep the interview on track.

‘All I know is that she signs her notes Sweetie-pie,’ replied Oliver.

‘We’re here to ask if you know anyone who is an Animagus, an unregistered Animagus. We think that she can turn herself into a cat,’ said Susan. ‘We re-interviewed witnesses, and several of them saw…’

‘My next-door neighbour, Mrs Sylvester, has had her granddaughter staying with her,’ said Oliver, his eyes widening as pieces fell into place. He jerking his thumb towards the wall his property shared with the adjoining cottage. ‘The little girl asked me about my cat. When I told her that I didn’t have a cat, she said she thought she saw a pussycat. Do you really think that this “Sweetie-pie” is…’

‘Thufferin’ Thuccotash,’ said Bobbie. She put her head in her hands and stifling an almost insane laugh.

‘What did you say?’ asked Susan.

Are you okay?’ asked Oliver.

‘She tort she taw a puddy tat,’ gasped Bobbie between giggles, wiping tears of relief and laughter from her face. Both Oliver and Susan were staring at her, concerned looks on their faces.

‘Tweetie Pie, Sylvester, pussycat,’ said Bobbie. ‘Suffering Succotash!’ She shook her head in despair. ‘Trust me to be stuck with two people who don’t understand the joke. And please don’t ask me what succotash is, or why it’s suffering.’

‘This is some Muggle thing isn’t it?’ asked Oliver.

Bobbie nodded. ‘And you’re an idiot, Oliver. Why didn’t you tell me about this madwoman?’

‘I told you…’ Oliver got no further, because there was a shadow at his window, and it was immediately followed by a deafening explosion.

The air was suddenly full of bricks and glass. Susan’s wand was out in an instant, and her Shield Spell protected them all from the debris. The rubble was bouncing off the spell when a large section of the cottage wall toppled over. Susan tried to move aside, but one of her stilettos caught on the debris and she tumbled to the ground. Bobbie watched in horror as Susan’s leg was crushed beneath the heavy wall. Susan lost consciousness, and her spell ended.

Bobbie’s ears were still ringing as a woman strode through the gaping hole. She wasn’t the harridan Bobbie expected. She was no older than Oliver, of average height, skinny and bespectacled, and her hair was straight and black. 

‘How dare you! He’s mine,’ she shouted, pointing her wand at Bobbie.

‘No,’ shouted Oliver. He nimbly leapt between Bobbie and the woman, and took up his Keeper’s stance. It was as if he intended to try to catch whatever spell she cast with his bare hands. He was wandless, Bobbie noticed, but most wizards were when they were at home.

Bobbie reached for her police baton, pulled it out, and swung it out in a rapid, sweeping arc, expanding it to its maximum length. The sudden movement distracted the woman, and Oliver launched himself at her. She reacted instantly. So did Bobbie; she too, closed on the woman.

‘ _Stupefy_ ,’ the woman shouted. The red beam hit Oliver squarely in the chest and knocked him back against the wall. The woman froze, apparently horrified by what she’d done, and Bobbie scrambled over the fallen masonry to get within striking distance. As Bobbie closed the gap the woman turned, her mouth gaping in an impassioned rictus of hate.

‘Av…’ she began, but Bobbie brought her baton down hard on the woman’s wrist, causing her to drop her wand.

‘You’re nicked!’ Bobbie shouted. With her left hand she grabbed the woman by her wand arm, and with her right she raised her baton threateningly.

The woman immediately began to shake, and to shrink. The arm Bobbie was holding was shrinking and becoming furry, as was the rest of the woman. Within moments Bobbie found herself holding a mewling, spitting, biting and scratching cat.

For a moment, Bobbie was so disconcerted that she almost released the creature. Remembering what she was dealing with, Bobbie gripped the cat’s foreleg tightly. She stared at the skinny black cat; it was desperately struggling to break free. Despite the claws which were raking her left hand and arm, Bobbie found herself unable to bring herself to hit the squirming scrawny cat with her baton. Cursing, and watching as the blood flowed from the many scratches on her hand, she dropped the baton and reached for her CS spray.

‘You asked for it, cat,’ she said, and she unloaded the spray into the animal’s face. The feline squeals were almost heart wrenching, but Bobbie held her breath and continued to spray until she finally felt the cat begin to transform back into the woman.

Still keeping a tight hold on the now human arm, Bobbie discarded the spray and reached for her Auror Identity Card. ‘Code Red,’ she gasped. Her own eyes were streaming from the sheer quantity of spray in the air. But by then the woman had completely collapsed; she was curled up into a ball, gasping for air and retching.

‘All Auror alert! Code Red, All Auror alert!’ the Auror Identity Card in Susan’s wallet announced loudly. The voice was female, clipped, calm and professional.

‘All available Aurors prepare for emergency Portkey activation in thirty seconds,’ Susan’s card continued to send out the call for urgent assistance.

Oliver was groaning, and trying to stand. Bobbie ignored him. After making certain that the woman was completely incapacitated by the spray, she gripped her bloody left hand under her right armpit to try to staunch the blood, and went to check on Susan. Her friend’s leg was trapped under a huge and heavy piece of masonry, and she was pale and still. Panic-stricken, Bobbie checked her pulse. It was weak, but Susan was alive.

Oliver looked at the crying figure curled in the wreckage of his home, and swore. ‘I know her,’ he said. ‘She works in the Puddlemere Club Shop. Her name’s Penny, I think. But she’s never even spoken to me.’

‘Get her wand,’ Bobbie ordered. In the background, she heard the countdown begin. Assistance would arrive in an instant.

‘Ten Aurors and Healer Rathod responding,’ the voice from Susan’s card continued. It was an unflappable voice of calm amongst the chaos. ‘Ranking Auror is Webb. Emergency Portkey activation in five, four, three, two, one…’

All around the cottage, spaced equidistantly from her own identity card—the card which had made the call—blue lights flared as the Portkeys brought reinforcements.

‘Detective Inspector Beadle, Auror Liaison,’ Bobbie shouted. ‘Auror down, suspect incapacitated! I need a Healer in here, now.’

Healer Parvati Rathod, her green coat flapping sprinted into the room through the broken wall. One of the younger Aurors Trudi Pepperell, wand drawn, was at her side. Auror Aloysius Webb, a rather unkempt man in his fifties, strode in behind them.

‘Clear,’ he said. He stared at Bobbie. ‘Let me take a look at that hand of yours. What made those scratches?’

‘Cat,’ said Bobbie. ‘Or Animagus.’ She indicated the weeping figure on the ground.

* * *

‘So that’s it,’ Bobbie told Lavender.

‘My leg was very badly crushed,’ said Susan. ‘The Healers had to vanish the bones, wait for the flesh to heal, and then put me on SkeIe-gro.’

‘What about…’

‘Penny is in St Mungo’s,’ said Bobbie. ‘She’s in the Janus Thickey Ward. They hope to be able to cure her obsession with Oliver. I hope they do, because, as the papers said, Oliver and I are back together.’

‘How is your hand?’ Lavender asked.

‘All healed,’ said Bobbie, holding it up and wriggling her fingers to demonstrate. ‘I never liked cats very much, but now I really hate them. I’ve also learned that CS spray isn’t particularly effective on animals. It’s something to do with fur, and tear ducts. Turning human was the worst thing Penny could have done. It took Parvati a lot less time to stabilise Susan than it did to remove the effects of the spray from her. Susan saved my life.’ Bobbie smiled gratefully at her friend.

‘And you saved mine,’ said Susan.

‘And Oliver’s cottage was partly demolished,’ observed Lavender. ‘Where is he sleeping?’

‘That’s none of your damn, business, Lavender,’ said Bobbie.

‘I thought so,’ said Lavender triumphantly.


End file.
